


A 'Not Sad' Night Out

by rexisnotyourwriter



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, F/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 04:46:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5695303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexisnotyourwriter/pseuds/rexisnotyourwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After one of his nightmares, Ellie takes Hardy to a pub to take his mind off things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A 'Not Sad' Night Out

Ellie had the night to herself, the whole night. Lucy had offered to take Fred so she could “have some fun” and not worry about anything, but she found herself sitting on the couch channel surfing trying to find a decent program that wasn’t an infomercial or a bad reality show.

Maybe she should just go to bed. She checked the time and rolled her eyes. It wasn’t even that late yet.

Her phone vibrated loudly on the side table. It was Hardy. She answered, and the first thing she heard was heavy, gasping breaths.

"Hello?"

"Ellie..." he said, still struggling for air.

"Oh shit! What’s wrong? Are you alright? Should I call an ambulance?"

He was catching his breath.

"I’m fine," he managed to say.

She snorted.

"Like shit, you are. I’m coming over."

"No, Miller, it’s fine. It was just...a dream. I don’t know why I called. Just - g’night, I’m fine."

"Yeah, ‘course you are." 

"Miller-"

"See you in a few." 

He sighed.

"’right.”

Click.

 

Hardy answered the door reluctantly. She could see the slightly darkened patches on his shirt where he’d been sweating, and his hair was more askew than usual. He leaned in the doorway, blocking the entrance. She stared at him, waiting for him to move and let her in. She shot him a sharp look.

"I’m fine. You’ve seen it for your own eyes now, alright?"

He was still kicking himself for calling her. He didn’t know why he did it. He’d woken up from his usual nightmare, coughing and sputtering, and instinctively reached for his phone, trembling fingers searching desperately for her name in his contacts.  _ Ellie Miller _ .

When he had heard her voice answer, he felt it was easier to breathe.  But then she had worried, and a wave of stupidity flooded through him.  

He was fine, really. This happened frequently, too frequently as of late, but it hadn’t killed him. Yet.

"Stop being an ass," she said.

He rubbed his hand down across his eyes and into his long scruff.

"Look," she said. "I’m not here to coddle you, okay?"

He moved his arm and gestured for her to come inside. She started to walk in, then stopped.

"Let’s go out," she said.

He looked at her, startled by the phrasing.

"Oh, no, not like that. God, no."

He looked down at his feet.

“‘Course not,” he mumbled.

"I mean like to the pub or something, get you out of this place, you know?"

He looked at her skeptically. Was she serious? Maybe it would be good to get out, just for a bit. 

_ Fuck it _ .

"Sure," he said.

She was almost as surprised as he was by his answered.

"Just let me, uh, change," he said, looking down at his slightly damp and crinkled shirt. 

Ellie wondered if he even owned pyjamas.

When he came back out, he looked almost identical, except his shirt was dry and slightly less wrinkled.

"Do you just own, like, ten of the same outfit or something?" she asked as they got into the car.

He half rolled his eyes. 

He was terrible at shopping. It was something Tess usually did for him, or at least with him. After the divorce, if he ever needed to get new clothes, he would buy new versions of the things he already owned, or at least the most similar thing he could find. It was just easier that way. He didn’t have to wonder.

"I have other clothes.”

 

They went to a pub just outside of town hoping they wouldn’t see anyone they knew. It was fairly busy for a Thursday night, and the only two spots open were at the bar. They each ordered a pint.

"D’you want to talk about it at all?" she asked him after the bartender moved away from their corner.

"Not really much to say." 

He took a large gulp of his drink. 

"It’s usually the same,” he added.  “Almost always the same, but no matter how many times I re-live it..."

He let his voice trail off. 

She just nodded. He didn’t have to finish his sentence. She knew. She had had dreams about Joe, about the day Hardy knelt down and told her it was him. Each time she hoped a different name would come out, but it never did, and it always hurt just as much.

"Right, well then," she said after a silence. "Let’s not talk about anything sad tonight. All happy things, yeah?"

There was a long pause. They were both clearly trying to think of something to say, but nothing was coming to mind.

"Ehm, how’s uh, you know..."

"Fred. Bloody hell, it’s a four letter name. Is it really that hard to remember? He’s good, I suppose. Sometimes I wonder though how aware he is of everything. With Joe not there anymore, or Tom...just him and me."

Hardy took another long drink. Ellie did the same. They were back in depressing territory. 

"This whole ‘not sad’ thing would be a lot easier if our lives weren’t such shit," she said.

Hardy snorted out a laugh. So did she. They started full on laughing and couldn’t stop. She thought she even saw water welling up in the corner of his eyes.

"Yeah," he said. “It would be."

He lifted up his glass and clinked it against hers. His was almost empty; she had just over half left.

"That didn’t take long," she said.

Hardy shrugged and downed the rest of it. He nodded at the bartender, who started pouring him another. Ellie was a bit surprised, to be honest, but glad that he was out and at least laughing, even it was at their miserable lives.

He finished his second drink just as she was reaching the end of her first. He ordered a third. She didn’t order a second. She had to drive after all, and she wanted to remember this night. He was already getting a bit drunk before he had started his third one, and it was like he transformed into a whole other person.

Somehow Becca Fisher came into the conversation. They were talking about the hotel or something.

"She rejected me, y’know," he slurred. 

"What?"

"She stopped by my room one night.  No, no, not like that, just as, you know, her job. And I thought, I don’t know...I asked if she wanted to-" 

He paused, either trying to remember what he had said or trying to muster up the courage to say it.

"I asked if she wanted to relax with me, in my room," he said.

Ellie was stunned. She didn’t even think he had a sex drive, let alone the balls to say that.

"You did not."

"I did," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh my god."

He nodded.

"She declined."

"Well yeah."

He put his drink down and stared at her.

"What d’you mean, ‘well yeah’?"

"Well, I don’t know! I mean, you just don’t seem like her type."

"Yeah, I’m not married," he said.

"Hardy!" 

She smacked his arm.

"What?"

She chuckled.

"Actually, I suppose you’re right. Lucy said she saw her with Paul. Switching from a married man to a man of the cloth. Bit odd."

Hardy scrunched up his face before finishing off his drink. He hadn’t had a buzz like this in ages. He casually reached up and undid the top few buttons of his shirt. He felt good, not just because of the buzz, but being out like this, with a mate.

 

The next morning, Hardy woke up confused, his head aching. The sun poked in from a crack in the blinds and stabbed right into his brain through his eyes, or at least that’s what it felt like. Beside his bed was a glass of water, but he didn’t remember putting it there. 

He took a small sip and slowly sat up on the bed. He tried to recall the night before. He remembered being at the bar, and drinking, obviously, and he sort of remembered the drive home with Miller, but not how he had managed to drag himself into bed. He remembered why she had come over in the first place and cringed again at having called her at all.

He rubbed his face with his hands and stood up to go to the kitchen. He needed something. Maybe not food though.

Someone was standing in the kitchen.   He stopped.  

It was Ellie. 

She turned around and suppressed a chuckle.

"Morning," she said.

"Ehm, morning," he said, confused. 

_ What the bloody hell happened last night? _

"How you feeling?" she asked.

"Like shit."

"Well you did quite a number on yourself last night. You were pretty hammered." 

"Yeah..." he said in a daze.

She picked up on it.

"Do you remember anything from last night?"

"I remember you coming here, then the bar. Well, some of the bar. It’s all a bit…”

He waved his hand around in a vague gesture.

“Fuzzy?”

He nodded.

Maybe she came over this morning just to see how he was. He looked at her clothes.  He was pretty certain they were the same ones she was wearing the night before. The cogs in his head started reeling.

"Miller, we didn’t-”

She furrowed her brow.

“Ehm, you know."

She continued to be puzzled until it clicked. 

"Oh, God no! No."

"Thanks."

"Oh come on," she said, resting a hand on her hip. "I drove you home and literally had to help you walk inside. I tried to leave, but you kept insisting I stay. Not like that though," she added quickly, seeing the look of utter mortification in his eyes.

He buried his face in his hands. 

_ Fuck _ .

"You were really, and I mean  _ really, _ out of it. I had to cut you off at the bar; you just wanted to keep on going."

His embarrassment was growing with every word. He could feel his ears getting hot. 

"I was worried about you, especially with your condition."

"It’s not a condition."

"So I slept on the couch. Don’t worry."

He let out a sigh.

"Well, thanks, I suppose," he said.

"You’re welcome. Now, d’you want a cup of tea?"

"Please.”

He sat down next to the folded blanket and pillow he now noticed on the couch.

The kettle boiled, and she brought over his tea and sat next to him. 

"Sorry," he said.

"What for?"

"Whatever I did or said or didn’t say last night."

"Ah, don’t worry about it. You can just relax," she said with a smirk on her face. "With me here."

Those words brought back memories of the previous night like war flashbacks. 

_ Bloody fucking hell. _

He popped the two pain pills she had put next to his tea, swallowed them, and once again rest his face in his hands, shaking his head while she sat there giggling.

"I didn’t do anything stupider than telling you that, did I?" 

She smiled to herself as she took a sip of her tea.

"No, not really.”

She decided it would be best not to tell him about how he ordered a round of Tequila shots for himself and a nearby table he had befriended, and how he insisted they stop for chips on the way home, and how he had tried to convince her to sleep in his bed - not to have sex though, just to be there. It was sort of sweet really. She was almost tempted, but the shock of him waking up sober to her in his bed probably would have actually given him a fatal heart attack.

He noted her smile with a worried glance. She looked back at him over her mug. 

"Don’t worry," she said. "Really."

He could hear that she meant it, so he left it at that.

"Miller?"

"Yeah?"

"Don’t ever let me do that again." 

"Yes, sir." 


End file.
